


Der Schleier

by Asters_and_Alyssum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Dreams and Nightmares, Gen, Germany is Holy Roman Empire, Hetalia Writers Discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20199820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asters_and_Alyssum/pseuds/Asters_and_Alyssum
Summary: Before that moment — that first spark of awareness — things were nought but a fog.





	Der Schleier

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble written really long ago for the Hetalia Writers Discord. Found it again, decided to post it.

He distinctly remembered the moment he first began to exist.

There was sunlight, a blazing blue sky above him, silhouettes dancing above his face. It was cold. And he felt so, so strange. He had pulled his mouth open, gasping his first breath in lungs too used to coughing. And all at once, a cheer rose up around him. Words chanted over and over again. A name, he realised. And for a moment, a fleeting one, he knew it wasn't his.

Before that moment — that first spark of awareness — things were nought but a fog.

His dreams teemed with it. It poured through his mind when he was at the edge of sleep, and he would wander through it, unseeing and unknowing, led only by the sound of voices. One foot in front of another, tumbling through a blanket of white.

He always was cautious. His Bruder would never approve. His Bruder would dangle a lantern and lead him away. Fog was unsafe. Fog led to the unknown. And in a forest shrouded in it, surely he would be lost.

But his Bruder wasn't here now, was he?

He would see something, sometimes. The figure of a young girl, younger than he. She would warble the tune of a faraway song, scrubbing and scrubbing at a polished floor. A deck bush leaned against a wall of mist, and a piano tinkled from ages away. And it felt like home, somehow. If he chose to run, deeper and deeper, there would be more. The pianist would gasp, mouth parting in a rare smile. The girl would turn. He would see her face again. She would whine, of course, she would be hungry. He would blush and hide and perhaps even say _hallo_—

And then Ludwig's eyes would fling open, and the fog would be no more.


End file.
